Family matters
by Pemmican
Summary: They are fortunate to have him as their elder brother. They are fortunate to be able to live together again. AU
1. Home

This is how her day goes:

The alarm clock starts beeping at five-forty. She ignores it, tries to sleep a little longer, fails. Her mind restless from the noise, she fumbles for the remote, presses a button.

She brushes her teeth and washes her face, blinking at her reflection in the mirror. She puts on her uniform and double-checks the contents of her school bag before returning to the bathroom, this time to comb her hair. There's a curl she's been forever trying to straighten, to no avail; so she sighs, lets it be.

She makes her way downstairs in a daze, a hand trailing the banister to keep from stumbling. Sometimes, when she's stayed up the night before and has yet to recover, she would sink onto one of the steps and lean against the wall, briefly closing her eyes.

When she has finally dragged herself into the dining room, there's still plenty of time to spare. She collapses onto a chair, scowling at the clock as well as Yongzhu, should the latter quote a proverb about sleeping in; which he usually does, with a cheeky grin she'd have done something about if she wasn't so tired…

Both he and Ju_-_gege are wide awake. They've been sitting there for about an hour, drinking boiled water and tea respectively. Ju has opened his laptop to a news site and is scanning headlines in silence, while the former gets on her nerves by pointing at everything in sight: he's cooked breakfast, he's set the table and did you know everything in this room originated in him? She shuts her eyes, tries to ignore those ludicrous jabs.

After what's seemed like forever, she hears his voice call out to Hui. She re-opens her eyes to see said boy settle beside her, pouring himself some tea. He pays no attention to either Yongzhu or his all-too-cheerful rambling. She wonders how they can stand him, keeping hands clamped firmly over her own ears until her stomach growls.

Breakfast is already served in the form of rice congee and youtiao, with plates of sliced meat and pickled vegetables on the side. She stares at the bowl in front of her, already filled and cooling, and bites her lip.

It is only when Yongzhu has shouted out his name, accompanies this with wild gesturing, that they see Yao-gege by the door. The laptop shut and cups set down, they turn towards him, her and Hui each mumbling zao an. He nods and returns the greeting, his feet padding across the floor. He accepts a cup from Yongzhu; the tea it holds is sloshing, spilling almost in the other's eagerness.

Yao_-_gege is smiling, as always, and she finds herself returning the gesture. For a while she watches him, strands of dark hair swept over equally dark eyes as his head bends toward the bowl.

He looks the same as when they've first met.

She ducks her head when he glances at her, an eyebrow raised.

And suddenly she feels, knows, that neither of them have changed― she's still the little girl who couldn't hold her eldest brother's gaze but for mere seconds, though she's substituted fingering worn sleeves with gripping onto her chopsticks. And he's still―

He speaks in silences as much as words, not a minute goes by without her wondering: how can she have known him for so long, yet understand him so little? Everything he does, everything he voices, she takes them as givens and yet―

And she tenses as pain darts across her forehead, throbs, and is gone. She takes a while to steady herself before leaning forward, chopsticks in hand, and adds pickles and meat to her bowl. She sits down again, carefully raises the bowl to her lips.

… then again she's been thinking too much about this, hasn't she? It's not like gege is anything less than kind, no; not in the least.

They're all very important to him, he tells them often, his voice soft and level. They would make sure to wrap their arms around him at these words, she and her brothers embracing him as tightly as they could until he asks them (faintly) to let go, he can't breathe anymore. And they do, albeit reluctantly.

They are fortunate to have him as their elder brother.

They are fortunate to be able to live together again.

Their parents are long gone. For too long Yao-gege has lived in this house, then too spacious and quiet, with only Hui by his side. Their mother passed away months after didi was born, and their father left days thereafter; without speaking to Yao, without leaving a note even. Their brother would lapse into silence when asked for more details, his eyes boring into the wall over their heads.

When he speaks again, it would be in a much firmer tone: it's not important, what's the use dwelling on bygones? What matters most is that we're all together again, under the same roof. He'd look at them then and they'd nod, remembering.

Those times, she'd hear the soft rustle of grass in her ears. She'd immediately think of sunlight, could almost feel the warmth on her face and what are you still sitting there for, meimei, you're going to be late!

She starts, blinks a few times; her eyes finally register Yao's slight frown. She shoots up from her chair, her bowl falling onto the table in a clatter― Six-fifteen.

Why didn't you tell me sooner?

She rushes towards the door, snatching her schoolbag on the way, yells a garbled zhi dao le! when a question's flung at her.

(Have you remembered your medicine?)

She walks to the front door in strides, slips her feet into shoes and is outside in no time. She shakes her head as she walks towards the gate, berates herself for lapsing into recollections when she's more important things to worry about. She rubs at her forehead, ruefully feeling the beginnings of another headache. A sudden weight on her shoulder.

She turns.

Her brother is standing beside her with a hand hovering just above her shoulder, another clasped round a handle of his bike. Why are you still here? I thought you'd left already, we don't have much time left― she cuts herself off and glares. Hui is still looking her, his expression unchanged, collected as always; but she could see amusement in his eyes.

You should be used to it by now, he tells her, shows her the watch on his wrist: six o'clock. The clock's fifteen minutes faster, remember?

Of course. She huffs and turns away, hands tucked in the pocket of her coat.

She sits behind him, carefully smoothing out creases in her skirt, keeping a tight grip on the sides of her seat as he pedals. The neighbours' houses and trees slowly give way to high-rise buildings and streetlamps, she's looking at the squares of grass that lined the pavements when he asks: what are you thinking about?

Nothing, she answers. Pauses, then sneaks a glance at the back of his head, a thought nagging from the back of her mind.

What was he like? she suddenly blurts out, flushing an instant after. Presses her lips together, frowns as she tries to will the flush from her cheeks. Gege, I mean. You've been with him from the start, haven't you? I know it's been ages, but―

What do you want to know? He continues to stare ahead.

You know: what's he like, what kind of person he is.

Though he doesn't move, she can see him raising an eyebrow. He's okay, Hui finally murmurs: he never raises his voice, he's always polite. He hasn't changed really. She feels a smile coming, shakes her head at herself with an inward sigh.

See, she's been making problems out of nothing! Hui seldom speaks, but, whenever he does, says nothing but the truth.

Though it seems to run in the family, this tendency for silence: she speaks little, often stammers when she does; and Ju-gege speaks more out of formality than anything else. Yongzhu seems to be an exception, yet even _he's_ kept to himself at times. She spends the rest of the ride staring at the scooters and bikes that sweep past them, as well as the occasional car.

Her classes pass in a daze. She's a model student, but then again, so is everyone else. The subject she truly excels at, though, is History; after all, she's been taught by the best.

Yao-gege has bookshelves and a minor degree devoted to the field. He's fond of taking them to museums and ancient monuments, of telling the stories behind them. He talks so well they always attract a crowd and they've wondered, asked: why he doesn't make a living out of it then, if he adores history so much?

But he merely smiles.

There's a map of the country occupying an entire wall of their living room. It's Yao's pride and joy, and they can only imagine how much trouble he's gone through to obtain such an item; everyone goes for digital frames and projectors nowadays. They often find him standing in front of the map, his head bent forward, tracing rivers and borders with a pensive finger.

He should've been a professor really, he recounts historic events as though he's actually lived them: he's one of the soldiers marching off to battle behind general Liu Bei; he's a subject standing at the court of the mighty Kangxi; he's not listening to a word I've said, are you?

And she's in the classroom with Zhang-laoshi towering over her desk, his mouth in a firm line. How much times have you let your mind wander now, Wang Chomei? Just because you got a perfect score on last week's exam doesn't mean you don't have to _pay attention_.

She mumbles a sorry, sets her jaw as her head begins to ache. He gives a stiff nod, strides back to the front of the room; his droning voice fills the class once more. Her classmates return to their readers. She presses a casual hand against her brow, again plagued by a dull pain she's almost forgotten; she reaches into her desk with another.

You've forgotten to take your medicine, haven't you? demands a voice, almost accusingly.

She shrugs. She's remembered all the same, a few minutes later makes no difference. Her head's been cleared in any case, has been so seconds after downing the pill. She mutters something under he breath, stares into a tanned face. Her stomach churns.

It's lunch-time. Many of her classmates are reaching into their desks, their bags, the pocket of their jackets. They swallow their medicine and she pulls a face along with them.

She should have gotten used to it by now. She's been on the same prescription for who knows how long, and she's still put off by the bitter aftertaste.

She's not ill.

Not so much that she needs to stay at the hospital, at least. But it's not as though she could do without the medicine either; her headaches make sure of that.

And yet it's not a lie to say she's healthy either; she's no more ill than everyone else really.

But it irks her all the same. She looks forward to the day her prescription ends, when she doesn't have to brace herself every time she swallows a pill. She lets out a fustrated breath. It's partly because of her that Yao-gege has to work twice as hard, to pay all those pharmacy bills. She shoves this particular train thought to the back of her mind, but the damage has been done.

It's only when the house is in sight, when she's at the front gate, that her moods lift considerably. She swings the door open and enters smiling.

I'm home!

Her voice is met with silence, but that's nothing unusual. Yao-gege is still at work, Hui the library, and Ju-gege and Yongzhu are usually in their rooms. She takes off her coat, hangs it in the closet and heads upstairs. For a while she lounges in her chair, fiddles with the apps on her reader until the silence begins to bother her, as it always does. And so she shuts it down.

She visits Ju-gege first, he's closer and lets her in every time. She would sit by him and watch his fingers fly across the keyboard, neither speaking but comfortable nevertheless. But he doesn't answer her knock today, his room's empty when she peers inside.

She goes to Yongzhu instead. He cheerfully lets her in and so she pokes her head through the opening, a hand on the doorknob. Have you seen Ju-gege?

He's seated with his back to her, bent over his desk. Haven't. Have you tried the garden though? You know how much he likes it there. She nods and, after a pause, says: I will. What are you doing?

Writing, he answers distractedly. She walks over to him, peers over his shoulder.

It's neither the rice paper nor calligraphy brush that surprises her, though she spends a moment wondering where they've came from, whether he's taken them from Yao-gege without asking; they look authentic enough. No, it's the lines and circles he's making that draws her attention. He's painting― no, _writing_, she corrects herself; he looks sure of what he's doing, makes every stroke with a firm hand― and his face is for once serious with concentration. She glances at the…words. They're beautiful, she says, in spite of herself.

He beams. Isn't it! Calligraphy originated in―

China, you know.

And so it did.

But she's noticed the pause in his words, how his face went blank, the subdued note he finished on. He's still, frowning at the paper. She edges closer. Are you alright?

He raises an arm, presses fingers against his brow. Closes his eyes. I am, he replies, after a moment's thinking. She puts a hand on his shoulder.

Have you eaten your medicine yet? she asks softly.

He tenses and pulls away from her, grips the edges of his seat. She looks at him for a while, her face in what she hopes to be sympathetic and he sighs. His back slackens. Turning aside, he opens a drawer and fumbles inside; he takes out a small plastic case. She waits until he's swallowed a pill, gulped down some water, before she leaves.

Yongzhu's singsong voice declares _I told you so!_as she closes the door behind her, but for once she isn't annoyed. Ju-gege has brought a picnic blanket, he's spread it out some distance from the fence where the mumian trees grow. She walks across the lawn, the grass made stubby from having been mown days ago, and slows as she nears him.

He also sits with his back to her, though he's far from slouching. He's kneeling, his back completely upright, holding a porcelain cup close as he stares at the flowers in midst of blooming. The very sight of him, alone with the garden as backdrop, makes her swallow. It's only then she realises how dry her throat is, feels in her chest a heaviness she doesn't understand.

She covers the last few steps, kneels awkwardly by his side. He gives her a nod and, with careful fingers, pours the tea. She accepts the proffered cup, murmuring her thanks. He nods again, sets the teapot on a small wooden table. They drink in silence.

Dinner is quiet, as always. It's not until everyone's reached the table and sat down that the meal starts, Yao-gege refuses to have it any other way, not when he's finally found them all. They have fish and chicken and an assortment of steamed vegetables, set out on the rotating wheel at the centre of the table. They eat in a silence briefly disrupted with mild scolding directed at Yongzhu (eat slower, for heaven's sake, the food's not about to disappear), with pleas for Ju and Hui to eat more (you're both still growing, you know). They get up one after the other, placing their chopsticks and bowls in the kitchen sink.

She, too, retires to her room. The many hours before sleep are spent studying. Sometimes she'd catch her mind wandering off, and it'd take a vigorous shake of the head to bring herself around.

…and then there are times she's unable to do so. More often than not, her mind drifts back to the memory of the first meeting with Yao-gege, and take root.

That time, they were staring at each other across a grassy field. She is sure of this, she's played and re-played the scene in her head: the grass was a youthful green that swayed in the wind, a gentle breeze tickled her skin, and above them the sun was warm and radiant against a crisp blue sky―

The memory is there, clear as day, and she can't help but smile as she reminisce; yet there are times, and it's happening increasingly often, where she doesn't feel a thing. She finds herself examine every little detail: who said the grass was green, and not yellow and dried-up? And were they really standing in a field? Why not by a farmyard?

(She's lived in the countryside with an old couple in those days of yore, both Yao-gege and her memories say so.)

Was the wind blowing as softly as she remembers?

It must have been. She wouldn't be wearing frayed clothes otherwise, would she? And it was sunny that day...

The sun burned white, she recalls blinking at it. But what about the surrounding sky? Was it really as blue and clear as her mind insists? Who's to say there weren't any clouds in sight?

Just as clear she can see the sun bleeding, mixing colours with the sky until there was nothing but white―

―and the pain lacing her forehead brings her back to the present, back into her chair. Back to facing her reader. She's breathing heavily, now, the only sound aside being the device's steady electric hum. She stares at the blackened screen for the longest time, not quite seeing it, all her thoughts out of reach.

When a single thought makes itself known she seizes, grabs onto it eagerly. Her hand reaches out and, with a deftness that came from repetition, takes hold of her medicine case and flicks open a compartment.

She takes out a pill and, almost absently, pops it into her mouth.

_Yongzhu_(勇洙): Yong-soo's name in chinese

_Ju_(菊): Kiku's name in chinese

_gege_: older brother

_youtiao_: deep-fried strip of dough

_zao an_: good morning

_Hui_(辉): working name for Hong Kong; the character means 'lustre' and 'brilliance'

_didi_: younger brother

_meimei_: younger sister

_zhi__dao le!_: I know!

_digital__ [picture] frames_

_[hologram] __projectors_

_Liu__ Bei_: general, warlord and founding emperor of the state of Shu Han during the Three Kingdoms era

_Kangxi_: third emperor of Qing dynasty, had a peaceful and prosperous reign

_laoshi_: teacher

_Chomei_ (秋梅): working name for Taiwan; the characters mean 'autumn' and 'plum'

_[e-book] __reader_

_mumian_ (_Bombax ceiba_): a kind of cotton tree with red flowers, blooms between February and March of every year


	2. Abode

Now that he has so much time on his hands, what better way to spend it than with family?

Said family doesn't seem to agree… but that's okay! It's not as though they always mean what they've said!

He's sitting in the dining room, has an elbow propped on the table and his chin rested in a hand. He's staring at Ju, has been staring since the other opened his laptop but _shh_— If anyone asks, his eyes haven't left the clock on the wall behind his brother. Who hasn't been typing away at the keyboard for quite some time, has he noticed anything?

No, he's reading the news again. Like he does every morning.

But get this: the person seated across the table with his face obscured by laptop isn't Wang Ju.

True, it's easy to mistake them for the same person: they wear identical faces, they speak in the same soft voice. They even walk in the same way, in small steps and unconscious grace, backs bent forward ever so slight that the posture's easily overlooked. You'd think it just goes to prove Yongzhu wrong, isn't it impossible to mimic someone else's gait down to the finest details?

But he remembers another Ju, one whose impassive face can infuriate and scare the hell out of him at the same time. One who never raises his voice, even when he's saying the most disturbing things. Like: Yongzhu should be co-operating, cease this foolishness now, you're no longer

Ju is still talking, his face as blank as ever, and though his voice is now muted Yongzhu's ears are left ringing. With nothing of course, this high-pitched blare doesn't deserve to be called anything; he curls into himself and curses the not-voice, his ears, the ache creeping into the back of his head and _Yongzhu_. Ju is suddenly standing beside him, a hand on his shoulder, his face almost a replica of the one in his mind.

He pats his shoulder once, twice, the gestures made awkward when he draws back his hand and stares at him for a bit. Then he leaves without making a sound, leaving Yongzhu in a room heavy with silence and breathing and…

…the sound of running water reaches his ears, calms him. He breathes in, out, slumps onto the table. He's staring at a bit of wall when a glass is set onto the table. He shifts, glances at it for a moment before stretching his arm. I knew you cared about me, he mutters into the sloshing water, then directs a grin at the other.

I'm your brother, is all Ju says.

He sighs loudly. But says all the same, with a bright voice: I love you too! and raises the glass, earns himself the raise of an eyebrow before draining the thing in one gulp. Regrets his haste an instant later. The profile of Ju is has disappeared behind the laptop once more. He rolls his eyes. Props both elbows onto the table this time, chin cupped in his hands as he stares, frowns at the glass.

The glass: transparent, cyllindrical and empty. Out of which he'd just drank, that he remembers— along with the fact that his brother had been the one to bring it, filled with tap-water from the kitchen, so that he… biting the inside of his cheek, he presses fingertips to his aching temple.

He's forgotten something again.

It's not the medicine, which he's left in one of the drawers. It's just…

He remembers having stared at the other for the longest time, he's been thinking of him again— but what about? His mouth thins.

Again it's happened! He'd only paused his train of thought for a moment, his attention momentarily deflected… He's returned grasping at straws. All that's left are impressions and bits of words, oh, and then there's this feeling— remnant— that something important's happened. All he knows: his moods have taken a dive, all for something he can't even _remember_. And he's the one who invented memory! As well as forgetting, so why can't he get around _that_? Both originated in him, he's sure it'll all come back in the end so why not now?

It's only when the glass has abruptly vanished that he starts.

Chomei has picked it up and is tilting it this way and that, looking bemused. Good morning, she says, just as he opens his mouth. Waves the glass in front of his face a bit. Seeing things now, are you?

He would've made a retort, had he not noticed how tired she looks. So instead he takes the glass and tells her it originated in him, you know. Grins as she predictedly makes a face.

She mutters, darkly: You haven't lived long enough.

I'm still older than you, he returns easily, replacing the glass. He swears one of her eyes' just twiched; his grin widens. And since when do you wake up this early?

Couldn't sleep, she mumbles. Sits down beside Ju, who looks up from his screen.

I've left the congee is on the stove, he murmurs. Could you go and check if it's burnt? Yongzhu nods, gets to his feet; congee originated in him after all.

The watery smell of rice greets him upon entering the kitchen. He takes off the lid, stirs the contents of the pot with a spatula before setting it down. Watches thoughtfully as the congee begins to bubble. This is what they eat every morning, what he's used to, but today something seems lacking…

He leans closer to the pot. Maybe it's just him; congee is bland by nature, that's why people add things like pidan and pickles. But still…

It doesn't look exactly appetizing, does it? All water and rice and no colour— and no, white doesn't count.

Trust Yongzhu; colours originated in him after all.

After some thought his eyes brighten. He turns slightly and opens the door of a nearby cupboard. Grabbing a small cylindrical container, he adds a generous amount of beans. He returns to the dining room with a spring to his steps.

Soon as he enters Chomei has her eyes narrowed at him. What did you do? she asks suspiciously. At his blank look she presses her mouth in a firm line. You're _grinning_, she points out. Ju stares at him as well, his expression vague. He makes sure to grin even more as he sits down again, lounging a bit in his chair. After a while she huffs and turns away, leaning towards Ju's laptop as the latter resumes typing.

Morning! he calls out soon as Hui appears. The only response he gets is a stare, it's unsurprising really; he stows the beginnings of a question into the back of his mind. When his older brother appears, however, he begins to wonder if there's something in Chomei's word's.

Has something good happened to you today? he's asked, right after the routine greetings.

Yao smiles at him as they reseat themselves, he notices lines on the other's brow. He's tired, Yongzhu realises, just as Yao directs his attention to the bowl in front of him. His face a careful blank, his brother moves his hand from the spoon. What's this?

What, the congee? When the other doesn't reply, Yongzhu looks to his own bowl; he grins with realisation. Oh, you mean the hongdou!

His older brother, with eyes still on the dark-red mixture of bean and rice, quietly says: You've made hongdou zou instead, how does this make for a proper meal. And, in a low voice: What were you thinking?

I think it's delicious, Chomei speaks up, smiling at him. It could use a bit of sugar, I suppose, but—

Be quiet, the other says smoothly. You silly girl, no-one has dessert for breakfast, it's not healthy. Again Yao stares at him, frowns, then glances to his left. What do you think of this, didi? His younger brother has his head bent towards the bowl, is sifting through congee with a spoon. Do you not agree with me, didi? Do you think we should be eating sweet things at breakfast?

Hui doesn't answer, doesn't make a sound except quiet clinking noises of metal spoon against porcelain.

It's Ju who diverts their brother's attention, touching his arm lightly. You are right of course, Ju says coolly, although I'm sure Yongzhu's already learnt his lesson. And he whispers something in Yao's ear, elicits a tightening of the jaw and a stiff nod.

You are forgiven, Yao says to Yongzhu, getting to his feet. Don't do this again. I'm needed at the office so I'll be off now— behave yourselves. All eyes follow the man out the door, focusing on its frame as the sound of footsteps dies.

Soon as they hear the door being locked they look to one another, look at the table.

Then comes the sound of metal scraping across wood. Chomei drags her chair closer to Ju before she sits down again, sagging against the back of her seat. I don't understand, she says at last, her voice shaking slightly. She fumbles for something else to say, then shakes her head. Yongzhu puts his spoon into the bowl and rubs his eyes hard. Holds his breath. It's funny how he's no longer hungry, even though his stomach's started to rumble.

He's been busy, Ju murmurs, finally breaking the silence. There's been disturbances in the east. A few taps of the keyboard, the laptop turned to face a wall; and the image of an news article appears. They all lean forward, eyes scanning the projected words.

That's why he's been away so much, Chomei says softly. Her eyes dart to Yao's cooling bowl, then back to the wall. And he hadn't eaten a thing! Now she's worrying her lip.

Yongzhu barely hears her, his eyes being fixed on the headline, which reads: Further Riot in Chaoxian. No wonder elder brother looked so worn out! he muses, a frown spreading cross his face.

Sometime later they've left the table and, moving as one, make for the living room. Today they all sit on the same couch, Yongzhu-Ju-Chomei-Hui. He glances to his left. Little brother is the most unaffected of them, his face a blank and his shoulders slackened. Yongzhu's never been able to tell what he's thinking, except the time when they were small—

Since when? The sudden question makes him catch his breath.

He didn't meet Hui until Yao brought him back again, remember? He spent years with his foster-parents living in that ruin of a house, in a ramshackle town leagues from home. It was so different from the way things now are, and sometimes Yongzhu wonders…

Sometimes he'd look around a room and marvel: How bright the walls are, how neat everything is! And look at the table and chairs, those shelves, that hanging lamp— how oddly cluttered! He'd feel puzzled then; since when did they need so many things? All those furniture obscuring the walls, taking up more space than needed, it's constricting and you've forgotten your medicine again, haven't you?

Chomei is leaning over Ju, her face pale but eager as she says: Let me get it for you— please, she adds quickly, when he opens his mouth to protest. She scrambles from her seat soon as he nods.

There's only the three of them now, and somehow this makes him feel more at home. They used to sit together like this, when they were young, though it didn't happen often…

They got along just fine, they just weren't that close to each other. Even then their world revolved around big brother, even then they vied for his attention. Yao doesn't cares for them equally, doesn't play favourites. You'd think he'd be more fond of Yongzhu, who always has a grin ready, but he spends just as much time with Chomei and Ju and Hui— though he can't imagine the latter two being much fun, his brothers being able to go without speaking for days.

They weren't always like this, he's sure of it. There's a time when they remembered to smile, when their voices would mingle with his as they welcome Yao home. When they'd try to speak to him at the same time, when their brother actually laughed.

He remembers: the four of them seated much like they are now, except with Yao between him and Ju. They all sported grins, the after-effect of some comic story or other. He'd look up into his brother's face, saw himself in the other's eyes and they'd been so _young_.

So young, so… what? He taps fingers against his brow, the pain creeping into his forehead disrupting his rythm. He shuts his eyes against the discomfort, only to reopen them at a poke to his shoulder. Chomei has returned, medicine case and glass of water in hand.

However would you manage without us, you dummy? He shrugs, looks away from her fond eyes.

The pill is a smudge of white between his fingertips as he twists it this way and that, then pops it into his mouth. The pain gone, a smile unfolds across his face; now why hasn't he remembered sooner?

He thanks her. Meimei beams at him before gesturing for Ju and Hui to shift aside, resettling onto the couch. And there they stay, for who knows how long.

No really, he's no idea. Not that he cares about it, much: he's sinking into his seat, smiling and free from pain and enjoying every moment.

And there they've stayed, none of them leaving the couch until they hear the doorbell. But first they look at each other, all faces carefully blank. And then: Someone should get the door, Chomei mumbles. Glances at the door, then back at them; rolls her eyes at the lack of reaction. Mutters _fine _under her breath, rising from her seat once more, making sure to walk louder than necessary; Yongzhu grins and waves when she turns back, so they can hear her moving down the hall, too.

But they don't hear the sound of the door being opened. They don't hear what the caller says; or meimei's response, either. The silence stretches onwards until her return, mouth pressed in a thin line and eyes wide-open. She steps aside.

And suddenly the room is bursting with noise: scuffling as they get up, not without lack of trying to keep quiet, but bumping into each other nonetheless. Yongzhu tilts his head to the side, still smiling when gege steps inside. How nice, he's usually not home at this hour… oh, it's ten already?

Yao-gege approaches them, his face desperate but that's okay; he's eaten his medicine! The not-pain reassures him and he looks on, smiling as their brother stands facing them.

I'm sorry, he says quickly. Lets his breath out. I've been so busy these past few days, you see, all that work must've gotten to my head. I shouldn't have been so rude, I shouldn't have raised my voice— will you forgive me? Hui? Chomei? Ju?

…Yongzhu?

Of course, says their sister, walking towards them. The man gives her a brief smile, turns back to them. His brothers are silent, but Yongzhu can see them nodding out of the corner of his eye.

And now he's the only one left. The not-pain begins to wane, a hint of worry prickles at his nape. They're all staring at him, gege most of all and that is _not nice_.

An understatement, a voice whispers against his ear. He listens: Yao-gege has just apologised and for what, merely being rude and raising his voice, isn't it nice that now he doesn't have to concern himself with Yongzhu's having been made a fool? Because isn't that what their elder brother's been saying all along? What were you thinking, he'd said; what's this? Do you think we should be eating sweet things at breakfast?

And: Do you not agree with me, didi?

_Well_. Yongzhu blinks slowly, feels his stomach drop. Yao may have apologised but if he thinks he's to be forgiven… His head buzzes uneasily as he sets his jaw and, looking his brother in the eyes, opens his mouth—

and somewhere along the way his throat tightens his forehead twinges and his thoughts

—and his mouth says: of course I forgive you, gege! He watches the other's face relax, his feelings muted and far away. He's enveloped once again by not-pain, settled snugly into the back of his mind as Yao smiles with relief. Thank goodness, the man is saying. I've felt so worried about all of you… I came back as soon as I could.

The next moment they are in front of him, they've flung their arms around him; the side of his face resting against gege's chest, Yongzhu feels the corners of his mouth stretch upwards. The pain is gone, everything's fine again, and Yao can't… breathe…

…_oh_. They take a few steps back, arms falling to their sides. Yao-gege takes a moment to regain his breath, then smiles once more. I've been thinking, he tells them. My time's been eaten up by work and so I haven't spent much time with all of you, have I? He pauses, looking at each of them, his smile almost large enough to mirror that of Yongzhu's.

Let's take a vacation, he says.

They race each other to the map-covered wall.

Chomei is the first to arrive, she's rested a hand against the wall; her eyes dart back and forth the confines of the map, narrowed in concentration. As does Yongzhu. They've been to Yuenan and Xizang and… they've been all over the country, he realises, he's trying to find a province they haven't been to—

What about Monggu? his meimei asks suddenly, still staring at the map with faraway eyes. Gege looks at her with the beginnings of a frown and she turns red. She mumbles: it's just a thought, really, I wasn't thinking properly. Stammers something else, Yongzhu catches 'grass' and 'sky' in her babbling; it confuses him, makes her flush even more. It's a let-down, seeing the girl reduced to lowered head and burning cheeks and incoherence.

He remembers his sister standing tall, directly meeting others' eyes: self-assured and proud in her own quiet way, she's beautiful. She would never duck her head like that, or advert her glances either. So who's that nervous little girl in front of him?

Try as he might, his mind remains blank.

He sighs inwardly, glances alongside of his gege; who is standing a good distance back from the wall, reading the names of all provinces and pausing to remember whether they've been there before. They listen to the sound of his voice, stare at the map, and before they know it their stomachs are drowning out his words.

Let's think about this over some lunch, Yao says awkwardly.

The meal comes and goes. During that time Yongzhu and meimei emulate their brothers, eyes never straying from their bowls except when in need of refills; the table would get quieter by the second, they're trying to one-up each other with their silences.

They return to the map, and leave with nothing decided.

Yao-gege stays for the rest of the day, he's trying to spend time with them all.

With Ju: he sits beside the other, keeps from looking towards the laptop screen as he fumbles for a conversation-starter. Ju is polite and understanding, he nods every couple of words and somehow this makes Yao restless.

So he turns to Hui: and he hovers over the other's shoulder. Hui has his math workbook opened, he's divided his time between jotting down answers and pausing. Gege's quite good with maths, he can help, is there anything you don't understand didi? The boy remains still, head bent and staring at his workbook, never looks up once. At last Yao sighs.

With Chomei: he sits next to the other on the sofa and there isn't anything else he could do, is there? She's got a book in her hands, a novel with the drawing of some type of tree on its cover. Hums and murmurs single-word sentences at whatever he says. By now Yao's smile is slipping. His eyes flit amongst them without stop and he's rubbing his hands, oddly enough; winter's ages away.

Yongzhu stares at him. Of course at Yao: there's no doubt he's anyone else, he's the same as ever, the sorry tangle of scenes he calls memory agree for once. He is their gege, the only constant in their world, he's always been, without him they'd―

Yongzhu leaps to his feet, glancing about wildly. Where's gege? he hears himself cry; one moment he's losing himself in his thoughts and the next his brother is _gone_―

On the way to his study, Chomei replies, peering at him with concerned eyes. He said something about work. She's also asked whether he's alright, but he doesn't stay long enough to answer; instead he's swept out of the room and down the corridor, his feet thumping against floor in pursuit of his brother. It's only when he's reached the veranda that the man comes in sight.

Wait! he shouts, jogging over to Yao.

The man halts and stands still, hand gripping the coat he must've fetched earlier. What is it that you need this time? he asks with a sigh.

Why do you ask? Breathing heavily, Yongzhu steps towards and wraps arms around other; and he nuzzles his chin into the crook of Yao's neck, his breath tickling skin. I just wanted to spend some time with you, he murmurs, feels the other's shoulders stiffen.

Then he hears a sigh, feels the man shift his balance from one feet to another as he reaches into a pocket of his coat. As the other steps away, he feels something pressed into his hand. The object is cold in his palm, solid yet light; his fingers curl around it as his brother moves away.

I'm very busy, he's told. Maybe some other time.

He pouts until the other is out of sight. Upon which he swallows and relaxes his hand, holds the object up to the sunlight.

It's an inkstick― he squints― made of dark stone, perhaps jet? With no engraving whatsoever…

Then he sighs, fists his hand again before turning around. Heads for his room. There he'll make his way towards his desk, open the drawer closest to his feet. And place the inkstick amongst the scrolls of rice paper, calligraphy brush and ink bottle.

* * *

_pidan_: hundred-year egg

_hongdou_: literally 'red bean'. Also known as adzuki bean.

_hongdou zou_: literally 'red bean congee'. Made of only adzuki beans and sugar and is eaten as dessert in China, Hong Kong, Taiwan, Japan (with mochi). The dish, made with rice and no sugar, is called _patjuk_ in Korean; _sweet_red bean congee is known as _danpatjuk_ and made with red bean paste (and eaten with rice balls, commonly in winter).

_Chaoxian_: historic chinese name for Korea as a whole (that is, the North and South together). The name is currently used by the PRC to refer to North Korea.

_Yuenan_: Vietnam in chinese

_Xizang_: Tibet in chinese

_Monggu_: Mongolia in chinese


End file.
